The Ice Mother
by BellatrixLestrangey
Summary: Part of Femslash February. Prompt: White. Icy claims that she was born of the snow. She likes to say that on a particularly white and frigid winter night, a woman cut and carved her out of a block of ice under a full moon.


Summer and winter are never supposed to meet. By the time one arrives the other is long gone. Summer and winter aren't meant to coexist. But summer and winter touch. Summer and winter kiss. Icy's lips are as frigid as Bloom's are hot. She trails a long-nailed finger along Bloom's spine. It chills her to the core but kindly so.

It is snowing lightly outside, a slow and steady flurry and Bloom knows that the ice witch is thriving. She is in her element. The witch presses another cool kiss to her neck before standing up. Bloom has half the mind to pull her back down.

But she lets Icy wander away.

She does this every winter.

Randomly stops what she is doing to peer at the snow.

Icy claims that she was born of the snow. A concept Bloom has yet to understand in full. She likes to say that on a particularly white and frigid winter night, a woman cut and carved her out of a block of ice under a full moon. That the woman weaved and worked magic into the ice and from it, got a babe.

A child as frosty as the world around her.

She says that the woman then left. That it was fine because, truly, the snow is her mother.

Bloom does not know if the witch is speaking literally or in metaphors. Icy never clarifies. Year after year and Bloom is beginning to think that she will never know. "Who is your mother, what is her name?" She asks every time the woman begins to stare out the window.

The woman simply points at the largest mound of snow she can find and says, "she has come to visit."

Today is no different, she is beginning to think that Icy really had meant her story literally. But then, she has no idea how Icy would know that unless someone has told her. Or perhaps she has the memory of being created-but that seems more impossible than a woman crafted from snow.

Icy wanders out into the cold.

Bloom wants to follow but she doesn't do well in such weather.

Instead she stares at the woman outside. Flakes cling to her lashes and catch in hair. Her skin is so pale, Bloom notes for the first time in a while. It becomes obvious when she sees it against the white of the snow. Her skin is only a shade or two darker.

The woman reaches out, perhaps to catch the white clusters in her palm. She looks skyward and the flurries fall on her lips. They don't melt as they would if they hit Bloom's skin. No, the flakes cling and stick to a woman as cold as they.

Bloom loses track of how long Icy sits out there. But she seems to talk with a degree of compassion to the flakes as if to a friend. She finds it strange that the woman is nicer to the snow than she is to most people.

Finally Bloom comes to join her. She bundles herself up to the point where it is almost hard to move. Icy doesn't seem to notice her at first and so she catches a rare moment of vulnerability. The woman is speak to the snow about her troubles, the way a child would to a mother.

And Bloom knows once and for all, that she had been literal in her story.

Bloom wonders if she has ever tried to seek out the woman who had performed full moon magic in the first place. She gets the sense that Icy doesn't care. That Icy feels as though the snow is more of a mother to her anyways.

Bloom comes behind the witch and wraps her arms around her middle. She is freezing, more so than the flakes that fall around her.

Everything is white; either coated in it or naturally so.

The ground is blanketed in white. The trees sparkle with white like mashed diamonds. The sky is the white of winter with clouds of the same color.

Bloom runs her fingers through locks of white. Only then does the witch notice her. She grows quiet and rigid. But she doesn't tell Bloom to leave her. She simply digs into the ground and comes up with a handful of snow that she clutches tensely.

Bloom brushes Icy's hair to the side and kisses her neck. "Can we go inside? I'm getting really cold."

She knows very well that the witch is enjoying the weather. But she stands and silently heads for the house leaving Bloom to scramble to catch up. Once inside, Icy seats herself by the windowpane, propping her arms on the sill. Bloom comes to sit behind her, rubbing her back.

Another year and she still doesn't know what the woman's point is, in going outside. But she decides that she will bare with it until Icy tells her more.

She holds Icy, resting her chin on the witch's shoulder, and staring out at an endless expanse of white.


End file.
